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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955522">a rose by any other name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life'>Duck_Life</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Coda, Post-Episode: e171 The Gardener (The Magnus Archives), Purple Prose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:40:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth's garden.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a rose by any other name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a flower blooming close to the exit of Jared Hopworth’s garden, lovely and horrible. Its pink-brown petals reach upward toward the everpresent Eye looming above the world, and its stem is thin and spindly like fishbones.</p><p><br/>Martin finds himself drawn to it— the grotesque beauty of it, the hateful fragrance hovering near it like sick perfume. And Martin isn’t sure how he knows but he knows. With one unwavering finger, he traces against the fernlike red leaves poking out from the spine of the thing. It closes up around the intrusion, not like a Venus flytrap but like a grasping hand, seeking comfort, seeking closeness.</p><p><br/>Jon shouts when he sees. “Martin, I told— I told you not to touch anything.”</p><p><br/>“I… it’s not,” Martin says, unable to tear his gaze away from the hideous, glorious sight. “Jon, I think… I think this one’s you.”</p><p><br/>“What?”</p><p><br/>But then he sees it and Sees— <em>Crocus jonathan</em>. A pitiful, powerful thing, grown like Eve from a single rib. Cultivated out of scar tissue and festering sores, marked again and again by aphids and heat damage and mold. Fertilized with a hatred of the Self manifesting as a hatred of the body.</p><p>“Martin, I…”</p><p><br/>“You were right before,” Martin says, staring with a mix of botanical interest and established devotion. “They’re beautiful… all of them. But not because of Jared Hopworth and the Flesh or… or because of plastic surgery or something. They’re just people, all of them. Even this one… even you.</p><p><br/>And… they are beautiful, but not in the way you can see. Beautiful for what they are, for who they… who they were, I guess. Just… human beings. Trying. Trying so hard to be… worth… something. But they already were, Jon. They always were. You always were.”</p><p><br/>“We have to leave.”</p><p>As they walk away, Jon feels something in him detach and remain there, clinging to the petals and leaves of the growth in the garden. As if he’s leaving another little piece of himself behind with the pieces of his body.</p>
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